


Nightcaps and Other Notions

by Dispatch22705



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-10-10
Updated: 2015-12-20
Packaged: 2018-04-25 17:55:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 14,885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4970710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dispatch22705/pseuds/Dispatch22705
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of stand-alone one-shots, each one inspired by a cocktail recipe. Some are smuttier than others, all are hopefully sweet!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Afterglow

Hello Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries Fans!

I'm adding these stories to this site (my first time on this site) at the recommendation of some readers. This story will be a series of one shots, mostly sexy Phrack times, usually not much plot. Each one will be based on the name of a cocktail/nightcap. And while I believe in canon timelines, I don't always hold to them in fics. But if I have any stories where they take place after a specific episode, I'll be sure to mention it.

In this one, I used the old 'Five Things" prompt.

 

**-j &p- **

 

**5 Things Jack forgot about…and one he didn't.**

 

If he'd thought about it, he probably could have conjured all of these up, but one of the main tenets of self-imposed celibacy was deliberately not thinking of such things. He'd forgotten about the sharp bite of a woman's nails down his back when he thrust into her for the first time. The wet clasp of her body around his dick, pulling him inside, as if he planned on going anywhere else this century. The press of her teeth to his shoulder when the pleasure became too much to handle and she had no other way to convey how so fucking incredible he was making her feel. The mindlessly delicious friction of cock in cunt over and over and over and… "Oh yessssss, JACK!"

And yes that. That _right there._ The low, keening sound of a woman calling his name as she came in his arms, around him and under him.

But there was one thing he'd never forgotten simply because he'd never seen it before. And now he would never forget it for as long as he lived. The sight of one specific Phryne Fisher beneath him, her arms and legs and soft wet undulating pussy all wrapped around him. She was even more gorgeous in her afterglow, completely unraveled by pleasure, her lips parted, her hair matted to the pillow and her neck, her eyes glassy with pure, concentrated ecstasy. Because of him.

 

**-j &p-**

 

Ingredients:

1 part grenadine

4 parts orange juice

4 parts apple juice

4 parts ice

 

Mix & serve over ice.


	2. A New Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Set after Murder at Montparnasse. Hugh asks about what went down at the restaurant, and Jack reflects on his newfound knowledge of Phryne Fisher. Not smutty.

**-j &p-**

Jack felt his constable's eyes on him as he re-entered the office, and he could tell the younger man had something on his mind. He lifted his eyebrows in a quick and accepting greeting before making his way into his own private office, and Hugh followed him. Jack motioned to the chair across from his, but Hugh chose to stand. He was fidgeting, and working what looked like a handkerchief in his hands. With a frown, Jack tilted his head to the side. "What is it, Collins?"

Hugh's lips parted a fraction of a second too long before he spoke, and he flushed. "Well, sir. I um, I had a question…about the case today."

"Okay, what is it?"

"Right. Well, um…it's regarding Miss Fisher." Hugh flushed a deep red color. "I was just wondering, sir…about the protocol and all, and…" his words trailed away, and Jack held up a hand to stop him.

"Your question, Collins. Out with it."

"You kissed her," the reply came in a rush. "I thought I had all of the sting operation details memorized, sir, but not that one, and-" His words trailed off, and Jack sat straighter in his seat.

"All part of the job," he explained, proud when his voice was steady and authoritative. "Just as I told Miss Fisher."

"I see," Hugh nodded.

"Yes," Jack continued. "Her mind was not on the task at hand, and I needed a way to effectively distract her. I did what anyone would do in the same situation."

"Anyone, sir?" Hugh had a small look of horror on his face, as if the possible consequences of kissing Miss Fisher without her consent were crossing his mind.

"Well," Jack conceded. "Let's just say I did what was necessary in that particular moment. Completely professional."

"Right, yes. Yes," Hugh considered the response. "And so that is considered appropriate? If I were to, somehow, find myself in a similar situation. Kissing someone is…police business?"

Jack felt his jaw clenching and he pulled in a breath that didn't quite make it all the way to his lungs. He opened his mouth to reply before he realized he didn't know what to say. After swallowing with a bit of difficulty, he nodded toward the office door. "Was there anything else, Collins?"

The younger man blinked and then shook his head rapidly. "No. No, sir…not at all. I'll just…I'll just be getting back to work now."

"Very good," Jack replied and stood as his constable made his way back to the front section of the station. But once he sat and pulled in a deep breath, he allowed himself one more minute to reflect on his visit with Miss Fisher. He would deny and continue to deny that he'd blushed, but he couldn't deny the way his body still felt warm…even hot all over. But if he was honest with himself, it wasn't the painting that had warmed him from the inside. That had begun when he'd first met her, a soft ember he'd kept under control for the most part. There had been small flares—the first time they'd shared a drink, the way he'd made her smile with his gold joke in the chemistry lab, the feel of her hand in his when he'd helped her up on the stage. But feeling her lips against his, feeling her shocked breath against his mouth, feeling the tentative stroke of the tip of her tongue against his had set him ablaze. There was no other word for it.

And he knew it was time to stop fooling himself. He was more than just intrigued by the inarguably lovely Miss Fisher, more than just amused by her flirtatious tone and unorthodox methods. He wanted her, wanted her in a way he'd never wanted a woman before, in a way he couldn't quite articulate, not even to himself just yet. He just knew he wanted more. It wasn't just sexual, though he couldn't deny he admired her beauty. He'd woken up more mornings than he could lately count after teasing, sensual dreams. And now, he knew that the knowledge of her taste and the shape of her mouth against his would turn those dreams into near erotica…if he ever found himself able to sleep. So yes, he could admit he wanted her physically. But it was more than that.

He wanted more of her vivacity, more of her charm, and more of the silky slide of her hair in his hand while her slim waist was in his other. And more of what went on in her mind, more of what made her exactly who she was: strong, sure, sensitive, and intense.

And for the first time in a long time, he felt like something else, something he couldn't quite put his finger on, was possible. And he was intrigued by the possibility and by the way he wanted to pursue it. He'd never been complacent, and he'd worked hard for everything he'd had, but this felt new. This felt like tapping into a part of him that he'd locked away for a long time. Jack rested his fingers on the top of his desk and pulled in another breath, noticing with some clarity that even now, even after his self-admissions, he was able to breathe slightly easier. He opened his bottom desk drawer and used two fingers to move aside papers until he found what he was looking for, a single unmarked envelope.

He knew what he'd find inside; on his worst nights, he'd read and re-read the divorce papers, sometimes to torture himself, and sometimes just to feel something, anything, when a case was bad and he had no one to go home to. It had been a while since he'd needed to do that, and he had enough self-awareness to know why that was, to know who had unknowingly helped him in that way. And as he opened and read the legal text, it felt like he did so with new eyes, and in his mind, he could imagine an amicable end…one that would be necessary if he hoped to even consider any new beginnings. And for the first time in a long time, he was ready for those new beginnings. He took his pen and signed his name to the last paper, and in that moment, he knew it was over. And he knew that something new was officially beginning.

 

**-j &p- **

 

A New life Cocktail

Ingredients:

1 1/2 oz. Tequila

1 Sugar cube

3 dashes Angostura bitters

Lemon twist

 

Muddle sugar and bitters in an old-fashioned glass and fill with crushed ice.

Add 1 1/2 oz. Sauza Tequila.

Garnish with lemon twist.


	3. Port in the Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A Jack and Phryne first time. Not necessarily canon, but doesn't rely on the S3 finale to make sense. Based on the premise of what would happen if Jack makes a mistake and says the wrong thing. 
> 
> Sensual, M rated. Hopefully hot and sweet---you be the judge!

 

 

**-j &p-**

It was cold and raining, and just plain miserable. They'd solved another case, but one of the ones that left no one satisfied. It had started with a gruesome death, and as they'd unpacked all of the clues and motives, it had only gotten more demoralizing, leaving no victory in the solving. And now it was late in the evening, dark except for a few street lights and other random cars. Both Jack and Phryne were quiet as he drove; Dot had used her car earlier in the day, and now he was giving her a ride home.

The rain pounded against the windshield and windows, but it wasn't quite loud enough for Phryne to miss the soft sigh from Jack's lips. She turned to him with a small smile. "If this storm doesn't let up, you can always just stay at my place, Jack."

He didn't take his eyes off the road but acknowledged her words with a small nod.

"In fact, I've been thinking of just setting up a room for you," she continued. "So many nights, we share a drink, and then see each other again in the morning—you could spare yourself the drive. What do you think?"

"To join your little band of castaways?" he scoffed. "I'll pass, thank you."

They both froze at his harsh words. He pressed on the brake and spared her a glance, able to see a growing rage in her eyes even in the darkness of the vehicle. "Phryne," he began, not even sure what he was going to say. What he'd said was uncalled for, and he'd known it the moment he said it. He wasn't even sure where it had come from, but… "I'm sorry," he began.

"Stop the car," was all she said, already gathering her coat against her and putting her fingers on the handle.

"What? No," he replied.

"Stop the car now, or I'm opening this door and getting out."

He heard the tone of her voice and knew she was serious…and he knew she was just the sort to open the car door and exit a moving vehicle. With an exasperated sigh, he pulled to the side of the road. "Be reasonable. It's pouring rain, and-" his words were cut off as she opened and closed the door with a slam…and with her on the other side of it. Through the windshield, he could see her stiff back as she began to walk back to her home. "For crying out loud," he muttered to himself and leaned over to roll down the window closest to her. Rain pummeled the seat and his arm, and he hissed at the cool and icy feel of each drop. "Goddammit, Phryne, get in the car," he called as he slowly drove up beside her. She didn't reply, but merely kept walking, her face as serene and determined as he'd ever seen it, as if she wasn't quickly becoming soaked to the bone.

Annoyed at being ignored, he continued his slow driving, keeping her walking pace. His voice grew even more gruff. "You're being ridiculous. Get-"

"No!" she whipped around and pointed at him. With the night as her backdrop, her pale skin was even more illuminating, and she practically vibrated with rage. "No! No! _I_ am yelling at _you_. You do not get to yell at _me_ right now." She pulled in a deep breath, and his eyes tracked the movement, unable to keep from noticing how her soaked clothes now clung to her from head to toe. He blinked, and then realized she was once again walking away from him. He clenched his jaw and quickly pulled off his overcoat. He knew she wouldn't take it, but he wasn't going to roll up the window either, so it would have to do to keep the seat as dry as possible.

"Do you want me to call for Cec or Bert?" he asked as he came up alongside her once again.

"They have a meeting," she replied, not looking at him.

His jaw tightened. "I can call ahead and ask Dot to have tea and a towel ready?"

She quickened her pace before she answered. "She's out with Hugh this evening, to the movies."

"Right," Jack murmured to himself. He ran his tongue against his teeth and then clenched the steering wheel, keeping his mouth shut for the rest of the drive to her home.

_-j &p-_

Phryne went through the kitchen and spotted Mr. Butler on her way to the stairwell. "No visitors tonight," she said through the residual water running from her hair. "Tell Dot please."

"Yes, Miss," was all her esteemed butler said in response.

She ignored the tracks she was making and made her way up to her room. She enjoyed the satisfaction of slamming her door a bit too loudly, knowing there was no one upstairs to disturb. One glance at her reflection in the mirror showed just how soaked she was, but instead of shivering from the cold, her body continued to warm from the inside out, her anger fueling the heat. She discarded her coat and hat and moved to her vanity before unbuttoning her blouse and peeling away her earrings and necklace. She was just wiping away at her rain-streaked make-up when her bedroom door flew open. And in the mirror's reflection, she saw the inspector. He'd lost his hat, overcoat and jacket, and his tie was loosened around his neck. His white shirt clung to his shoulders and arms and his hair was wet and matted to his head.

"I told Mr. Butler no visitors tonight."

"And I'm not a goddamn visitor," he replied, his voice low.

One eyebrow rose, but she didn't give him the satisfaction of turning to face him. Instead she continued cleaning her face. "Apparently Mr. Butler's loyalties have shifted."

"Or perhaps he knows what's in your best interest."

Phryne rolled her eyes and turned then. "By letting you barge into my room?"

"If it makes you see sense, then yes!"

"Sense!" Phryne sucked in a quick breath before calming herself. "Listen, Jack, if you're here to yell at me again, I'm not interested."

Jack's jaw tightened at the way her blouse fell open against her body. "I'm not here to yell at you."

"Well, you're obviously angry."

"I'm angry at myself!" Jack's voice grew louder and then it was his turn to pull in a deep breath. "I'm here to apologize." He yanked at his loosened tie as if it was still too tight for comfort.

When she didn't reply, he realized she was waiting for him to make good on his words. "I'm sorry," he said, his hands unclenching at his sides.

"I'm not the one you owe the apology to."

"I realize that," he acknowledged. "Round up the whole household, and I'll apologize one by one."

Phryne considered him for a moment, and his nerves prickled at the way he couldn't read her thoughts or expression. "As tempting as that is," she began. "I don't relish their reactions and I see no reason to involve them."

"I agree," he replied and his words came out as a sigh of relief as he took a step closer to her. "But please know that if you wished me to, I would. Tonight. I just can't stand-"

"Me being angry with you?" she asked, her voice and face still impassive toward him.

"What? No," he took another step toward her. "No. I don't care if you're angry with me." One hand slashed through the air impatiently. "I'm sure you get angry with me as often as I do with you."

Her eyes searched his face and he thought he saw a tiny flicker of _something_ there, something on the other side of the serene façade she'd put on. It gave him the courage to step even closer, close enough to see remnants of raindrops against her neck and collarbone. He swallowed hard. "No…I just…I can't bear to lose your good opinion!" he confessed, and the words came out low and serious, and he felt each syllable. "I…I can't stand to let even one night go by if I thought that…" he cleared his throat and tried again. He felt her eyes on his face and wondered if she could see how desperate he was. "If I upset you. If I hurt you. If I…"

The silence stretched between them, and at first, only the grip she had on the curved edge of her vanity chair indicated she was affected. Rain pounded against her bedroom windows, and somewhere in the house a clock announced a new hour had begun, but it seemed like every second in this room was drawn out, every breath suspended in the palpable quiet.

"Then why did you say it?" she finally spoke, and he heard the cracked-open hurt in her soft voice. Her slim throat worked with her words, and his lips parted in response. He knew she was open, was opening up to him, and he couldn't help but move until he was standing directly in front of her.

"Because," he began, and his voice was quiet but steady. "Because for many years of my life I've been cast away in some form or another."

Her eyes stayed locked on his, and he powered through. "And you draw people to you like magnets, these lost souls who need a home, someone who believes in them," he confessed.

"I love all of my people, Jack."

"I know that. I _know_ that," he agreed. "And I know you would never consider them to be in your debt for anything. But for all that they bring to you, you have to admit you are the one who initiated all of it, that you are their benefactress." He ran a nervous hand through his slick hair. "Without you, who knows where any of them would be?" His jaw worked as he cupped the back of his neck before letting his arm drop to his side. "And I suppose that deep down, I fear that ultimately you feel sorry for me. You see me as a lonely man who needs pitied, another lost soul in need of saving, and once I'm in your collection, you'll move on to your next project."

She stared at his face and out of the corner of his eye he saw her hands relax from the chair. Her eyes fluttered closed for a second, and when they opened again, he saw a new softness in her expression. "I feel a tremendous amount of things for you, Jack." Her bare lips gently parted as she continued. "But sorry isn't one of them."

"Phryne," her name came out as a soft whisper.

"But if you can't see that and truly believe it, here," she illustrated her point by gently placing her hand over his heart. "Then there is nothing I can do about that."

Her eyes searched his face, as if looking to see if he believed her. He wanted to hear more from her but he knew that in order to do so, he needed to give more of himself. With two fingers, he brushed her hair away from her face. When she trembled at his touch, he couldn't help but cup her cheek in his full palm. Her eyelids drifted close at that and he leaned in, incapable of doing anything but pressing butterfly kisses to her soft skin. First her closed eyes, then the tip of her nose, the sweet corner of her mouth, the slim line of her jaw.

Both of her hands opened on his chest, and he paused, waiting to see if she was going to push him away or pull him closer. When her fingertips curled against his clothes and her neck tilted back to make more room for his mouth, he slid his hands to her hips and lifted, hitching her up on her vanity.

And that was it.

Everything to that point could have been shrugged off as comfort, apologies given and accepted, affection or even the allure of the pounding storm outside. But this was something else entirely; this was new.

He gripped her tiny waist in his palms before sliding his hands under her open blouse. His mouth moved down her neck and chest as he helped her strip from the damp fabric. "Jack," she whimpered when his mouth brushed over her chilled skin. He grew temporarily entranced with the feel of her heartbeat beneath his lips, and then he used his nose and lips to nuzzle the strap of her camisole down her shoulder. The tip of his tongue followed the path and she gasped and pulled him closer, wrapping her legs around his waist and using her hands to frantically unbutton his waistcoat.

Jack grunted his approval and captured her mouth with his. They both groaned at the sensation and paused, staring into one another's eyes and stroking whatever skin was closest. "Bed," he finally murmured against her mouth, wrapping his arms around her waist and hitching her up to his body. She threaded her fingers through his hair and pressed kisses along his jawline as he backed up until he felt her bed against the back of his legs. He sat and kept her on his waist, using his new leverage to pull her camisole up and over her head. The cool chill of the wet silk fabric over her skin made her gasp, and he didn't give her time to recover. He palmed her breasts, immediately thumbing one nipple while taking the other into his mouth.

"Oh, God, yes," Phryne gripped his shoulders and moved her body until her knees were planted on the mattress and she could move against his mouth. He murmured his encouragement against her skin, gently mouthing her breast until he kissed over to the other one. He used his tongue and lips and teeth on her until she pulled his head away, firm enough to force his gaze up to hers. "More," she demanded in a husky whisper.

Jack eyed the rest of their clothes and by mutual unspoken agreement, they stood and quickly stripped themselves. It wasn't time for saucy seduction or slow unveilings. She finished first and then sat on the mattress before sliding her body back until she was flat against the dark bedspread, her pale limbs tempting him beyond his dreams. Her gaze trailed down his body and she watched as he finally climbed onto the bed and crawled over her, sliding one leg beneath hers and one forearm to rest on the pillow next to her head.

"What do you want?" he asked, willing to spend all night in supplication at her feet, willing to kiss and touch every inch of her skin until she came apart in his arms, willing to start all over again and again until she'd had enough.

"You, Jack," she breathed, her fingertips skimming his jaw, then his shoulders, and then his chest and ribs like tiny butterfly kisses. "Just you. Always you…" she arched up when he buried his face against her neck and breathed her in.

He kissed her there and palmed her hips, situating himself between her legs until he felt the wet heat of her core against his bare skin. " _Jesus_ ," he cursed. "You destroy me," he confessed and met her eyes as he steadied himself to her entrance. "And I adore you," he added as he slowly slid inside her to the hilt.

His stomach muscles contracted against hers and he forced his eyes to stay open, to see the way hers grew darker, the way her lips parted, the way her cheeks grew flushed with pleasure. He planted his forearms on either side of her head and used his hips to withdraw halfway out before sliding back in. Her head began to move from side to side on the pillow, and he felt the silky strands of her hair against his skin. Christ, he wanted to do this all night. But he knew that soon she'd be begging him for more, she'd be running her feet against the bed, alluring him with the rotations of her hips and the delicious way she ran her fingernails down his back, just this short of pain. With a blink and a curse, he realized he wasn't imagining it, and it was happening, and he was pumping in and out of her, faster and faster, deeper and deeper with every thrust. "Oh God," he cried out. "Oh my God, Phryne, please," he begged, not even sure what he was begging for.

"I'm here," she soothed, moving her knees back toward her, causing him to sink even deeper inside her. They both cried out at that, and he sank into her and froze, swiveling his hips against her in a way that had her gripping his back and holding him to her. He pulled out and then back in, pressing and throbbing inside her. "Jack, don't stop," she pleaded.

"Come for me," he urged, and incredibly, he felt her begin to tighten, as if his very words had conjured up her imminent release. Time stood still as he held himself high and tight within her, his eyes nearly crossing at the feel of her body closing in on his, her slick heated core wrapped around him like the silkiest fist. His name tripped from her lips in a soft, sweet tone, and her eyes flew open as she came, an expression of gratitude in their depths that resonated deep in his heart.

"Oh, Jack," she bit her bottom lip and undulated beneath him as she shuddered in his arms, stroking his back and clenching around him. He felt the way her breasts crowned against his chest, her tight nipples pressing against him. He felt her arms around his waist and her inner thighs against his hips. He thought he might drown in the sensation of being pulled into her, as if he could pour all of himself into her, an offering of everything he had. "Jack," she inhaled through her nose and then released a satisfied sigh.

The sigh was his undoing, and he withdrew once, twice, a third time before unraveling inside her, groaning and coming so hard his vision went black and his breath caught in his lungs.

He came to with his face buried in the curve of her neck and the feel of her fingers gently stroking the back of his neck. Gingerly, he moved back, careful not to hurt her as he did so. Even so, she gave a small hiss when he slipped from her core. Immediately he palmed her there, trying to keep the sensations pleasurable for her. She instinctively arched against him and he pressed a bit more as he moved to her side. Her eyes were on his face, and he watched her as she traced her fingers over his chin and jaw. "I adore you," he spoke, unable to keep the emotional husk from his voice.

"And I, you," she replied, and he watched as her eyes grew slightly damp. Despite their recent activity, he felt a bit shy as he leaned in and pressed his mouth against hers. She returned the kiss before pulling back and staring into his eyes, as if waiting for him to decide what happens next.

His mind was blank for a moment and so he kissed her again. And then again. When she smiled against his lips, he knew the jig was up, and he pulled back. She was smiling with her eyes too and she shrugged a shoulder. "Will you be spending the night, inspector?"

The side of his mouth curved up, and he matched her movement. "I may as well. And I believe Mr. Butler put my coat and hat in the closet instead of just on the rack by the door, so…"

"How fortuitous," she replied.

"Quite."

Her lips pursed with another smile before she finally moved up and off of the bed. He watched her body as she walked over and turned off her lamps, and he still studied her as she pulled back the bed covers. "Move, Jack. Unless _you_ want to be my blanket for the evening."

"Mmmm," he pretended to consider before moving enough for her to finish her task. "A tempting offer."

She merely smiled and then rejoined him beneath the bedcovers. It took a bit of finagling before they were settled in comfortable positions, including switching sides of the bed altogether. But eventually they were still, her back against his front, and his arm wrapped around her. "If it makes you feel any better," he murmured against the back of her neck, letting his thumb stroke her stomach. "Mr. Butler made me knock twice before he opened the door."

Phryne smiled and traced her fingers over his arm. "Well, I suppose all is forgiven then."

Jack kissed her shoulder. "I'm glad to hear it, Miss Fisher."

"So am I, Jack…so am I."

They made love again that night, and again in the morning. Murmured words of love were exchanged, and soft touches affirmed heart-felt emotions. He was her steady anchor, and she was his port in the wildest storm.

**-j &p-**

Ingredients for Port in the Storm.

_25ml._ Johnnie Walker® Red Label® Blended Scotch Whisky

_25ml._ Ruby Port

_1dash(es)_ Cognac

_2.9 units of alcohol per serve_

Fill a glass with ice.

Fill a mixing glass with ice cubes.

Pour Johnnie Walker Red Label Whisky, ruby port and cognac into the glass.

Pour 25ml Johnnie Walker Red Label Whisky, 25ml ruby port and a dash of cognac into the glass.

Stir until well combined.

Stir the mixture with a bar spoon until well combined.

Strain into a glass.

Using a cocktail strainer, strain into a short glass.


	4. Between the Sheets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another J&P first time, this one inspired by a cocktail called Between the Sheets. M rated.

 

 

 

**-j &p-**

The first time was fun and frenetic, a hot frantic joining borne of months upon months of pent-up desire. It left them both slightly stunned and straining for breath; Jack rolled off of her body and onto his back, his eyes still squeezed shut and his pulse running at a nearly fatal rate, and Phryne was stretching her body against his side like a satisfied cat, low pleasured murmurs escaping from where she bit her bottom lip. One of her hands slid down and touched his arm. She ran the backs of her knuckles against his forearm, and he breathed out a small hum of approval.

With all of her remaining energy she turned further to her side and let her fingers skim gently against his chest. Jack lifted his hand and twined his fingers with hers, but it was still a few seconds before he could open his eyes and look at her. When he did, his lips curved up in a smile and he leaned closer to kiss her gently. And that's how the second time began.

He moved to fully face her, and soft kisses were combined with soft touches and whispered sounds of adoration and gratitude against soft skin. Jack ran a hand along her slim back, his calloused fingertips leaving a trail of sweet shivers in their wake. Phryne nipped at his jawline and moved even closer until her breasts were pressed against his chest. They both groaned at the delicious feel of skin on skin, and as his hand moved down to her hip, she lifted her leg over his waist. The movement was fluid, as if they'd been partners in bed for years instead of mere minutes. And their mouths met again and again, tongues tangling in pleasurable exploration.

Jack skimmed a thumb between her legs, and she arched closer and began to kiss him more frantically. He grinned against her lips and then slid into her body again. They both gasped at the sensation, the _oh so_ wonderful fit. Their eyes met and held as they began their rhythm. Slow, deep, close, tender, sensual, equal… _perfect_.

And when she came, all clenching muscles around him, he came, desperation unraveling inside her. They remained in each other's arms, still connected, gazing into one another's eyes. She felt like she was breathing him in, exchanging oxygen for his presence and feeling like it would sustain her. His eyes traced her face and his fingertips continued to skim against her soft skin, feeling that if he kept his eyes open and his hands on her, they could stay like this forever.

They stayed like that for long moments until Jack leaned in and nuzzled his lips against one of her shoulders. Phryne closed her eyes in pleasure and let him move her onto her back. His mouth slipped and kissed over her skin, between her breasts and down to her stomach. Then he was tracing the pad of his thumb over one hipbone and moving his body down toward the foot of the bed.

"Part your legs for me, Miss Fisher," he murmured against the inside of her thigh as he settled himself over her lower half.

Phryne shivered at his soft but commanding tone and did as she was told, luxuriating in finally getting all of his steady, concentrated inner confidence all to herself. When his thumbs gently parted her slick folds, she gathered the bedsheets in her fingers to get a good grip. And her hands immediately tightened at the first raspy lick of his tongue against her clit.

And that's how the third time began…

**-j &p-**

 

Ingredients:

1 oz Cognac

1 oz Triple Sec

1 oz Light Rum

.25 oz Fresh Lemon juice

Add all the ingredients to a shaker and fill with ice.

Shake, and strain into a chilled cocktail glass.

Flame an orange peel over the glass and discard before serving.

 


	5. Game, Set and Match

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-smutty, a little tag to Game, Set and Murder, based on a cocktail called Game, Set, and Match. Convenient! Mostly Jack POV.

 

**-j &p-**

"Game, set…murder solved, then," she said, her eyes and lips smugly amused at her clever joke. In contrast to her her pale clothes and skin, her cheeks were flushed, a result of the exercise no doubt. His hands were still safely behind his back, and he couldn't help but rock forward on his feet a bit in her direction. Her eyes tracked the movement, and the flush on her cheeks moved down her neck in a way that ensnared him prettily.

"I think we should stop playing games, Jack," she was saying, and he quickly met her eyes, blinking in confusion.

"But…well, I…I had fun," he motioned with his head toward the tennis court. He _had_ had fun, enjoying the activity and being competitive with her, surprised that she was not a sore loser. Except now it seemed she might be. "Surely losing a small match isn't grounds for-"

"I don't mean actual games," she replied, and her fingers came up to rest gently on his chest. Even through his sweater, he felt the soft pressure. "I mean…us, between you and me. I think…" her words trailed off for a second, and she tilted her head to the side. "I think it's gone on long enough, don't you?"

Her tone was soft with a teasing lilt, but he also heard the serious question in her voice.

"I see," he considered. He swallowed at the notion of what she meant, to stop the teasing and really _be_ together. "Well, I suppose we could, but…well, you see…" he cleared his throat and imperceptibly let himself lean more into her touch. "I'm having entirely too much fun with it to quit just yet."

Immediately, her eyes sparkled, as if the word fun set off a trigger inside. "Fun?"

"Yes," Jack replied, feeling a warmth crawl up his neck to his cheeks. He let his eyes roam over her face; she really was truly beautiful. "I've never really been able to do this."

She stared at him for a moment. "Oh," a small nod accompanied her response. "So, even with Rosie…"

He acknowledged with a tilt of his head. "Nice, and fun at times, youthful of course; we were practically kids. And of course we loved each other, but I don't know…it was somewhat neat and arranged, I guess. Once she had her sights on me and her father approved, there didn't seem much reason to put up a fuss, and…"

"And that was it," Phryne finished.

"Yes." Jack smiled at her, allowing two fingers to skim against the soft edge of the fabric at her shoulder. "I didn't have to do much pursuing. So this is new for me, the game, as it were," he conceded to her terminology. "And it's fun." _You make it fun_ , he thought.

"It _is_ fun," she agreed, letting the tips of her fingers curl just a bit into his sweater.

Jack bit his bottom lip between his teeth. "And, I confess," his mouth dried up for a second, but he knew he had to soldier on. She'd taken a risk by even bringing this up in the first place, putting words to the dance they'd been doing with one another. "I _confess_ ," he started again. "That it also feels like it will be the last time I'm ever in this position." _You're it for me_. He wondered if she could read it in his eyes. He wasn't ready to verbalize it yet, and he hoped she'd understand what he meant. It was crazy to think of ever being in a position to move on from a relationship with her, when they hadn't even started one to begin with. But he somehow knew that she had ruined him for anyone else. And in that moment, he was fine with that truth. If she wanted to take things to the next level, he would be all in, but for now…"So I'd like to enjoy it while I can."

"Logical," she added, a teasing note to her voice.

Jack couldn't help but smile. "Always."

She laughed at that and skimmed her hands down his chest. Then, surprisingly, she took one of his hands in hers. "I'll agree with this arrangement, with one exception."

He murmured for her to continue as she traced his palm with her fingers.

"There have been several instances where I thought for sure you were ready to move…forward," she met his eyes and smiled. "But then you pulled back." Her fingers tightened on his, as if her words would make him pull away. "So how am I supposed to know when you're done playing the game?"

One of her eyebrows arched, and he took the initiative, moving his hands until he was clasping both of hers. "You'll know."

"Jack," she started, and he pressed one finger against her lips for a quick second, as she'd done to him before. But he had to admit she had a point.

"Fine," he conceded. "You'll know, because I'll say so."

"You'll say so?" her eyes narrowed.

"Yes," he smiled and stepped back, putting safe distance between them again.

Phryne crossed her arms in front of her chest. "So you'll just…say or do something, and then what…just declare, 'oh by the way, that was a romantic overture!', then?"

Jack laughed. "Sure, yes. That's exactly what I'll do."

Her eyes narrowed even further, if that was possible, and he saw a new competitive streak in her stance. "Fine," she agreed, and turned to walk away to gather up her tennis racket. "But you never know," she called back over her shoulder. "I may have some romantic overtures of my own!"

Jack smiled and murmured to himself. "Game on, Miss Fisher."

 

**-j &p-**

Game Set Match:

50 ml. Vodka

5 strawberries

20 ml. Vanilla Syrup

150 ml. Cranberry Juice

Place strawberries in a glass and muddle them.


	6. Light My Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny drabble-esque shot, based on a cocktail called "Light My Fire"

**-j &p-**

"You're drunk" he accused, and she didn't reply but just kept eyeing him with that come and fuck me look. "But damn, I am too, so what the hell" he muttered to himself before he pounced. Her lips curved up in a pre-satisfaction smile and she stroked her hands down his back until she could pull his shirt from his pants. "Are you going to remember this in the morning?" she teased.

He growled and flipped her against the wall. She flattened her palms against the cool surface and curled her nails against it when he stepped behind her, close enough to feel how hard he was for her. His palms were warm and rough as they hiked her dress over her bare hips. "I'm going to remember this _every_ morning."

**-j &p-**

Light My Fire:

1 oz Gin

½ oz St-germain

½ oz Lemon Juice

¼ oz Green Chartreuse

Pour the green chartreuse in a cocktail glass. Put the gin, St-Germain, Lemon juice in a shaker with ice and shake. Light the green chartreuse on fire; strain the content of the shaker over the flame.


	7. No Regrets

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-smutty; a tag to Murder and Mozzarella

**-j &p-**

They finished the bottle he'd brought and Phryne was tempted to open another…and so she did. Something had changed, there was a new determination in his eyes, but even so, he wasn't showy. It made her wonder, not for the first time, what he was like when he was younger, made her wish she'd known him for a lot longer. But she knew enough of life to know that it made its own path, and for all of the push/pull tug she felt with Jack, she also couldn't help feeling as if they'd met each other at the perfect time in both of their lives. "Tell me about Concetta," she found herself saying, surprising herself as well. But it seemed harmless enough, especially when he eyed her with an amused glance over the top of his glass.

He swallowed a sip and then set the glass down. There was less of a teasing tone in his eyes than from before, when she'd asked about his lady friend.

"She's an admirable woman," Jack began. "I met her during the case we discussed, and at first, the food was good," he trailed off with a grin.

Phryne matched him and chuckled. "You and your food."

He shrugged a shoulder. "A man has to eat, after all."

"True," she conceded, desperately wanting to ask if the lovely Italian widow had satisfied any other of his masculine appetites.

"And over time, I came to find her to be very smart and easy to talk to."

Phryne wondered again at Jack's personal life, who his friends were, who he confided in, if anyone. They'd fallen into a tremendously successful professional partnership, but she knew she also had other friends and outlets to turn to for different parts of her life.

"She proposed," Jack added.

Phryne felt her stomach bottom out for a short second. "I see," was all she replied at first.

Jack's mouth curved to the side as he nodded once in acknowledgement. "And tonight, she…rescinded her offer."

The relief she felt, a magnified version of what she'd felt when Mr. Butler announced him that evening, surged up quickly and would require deeper analysis later, privately. "I see," she said again, but it was all she could quite manage verbally as she processed this new information. She knew enough about the case to know Concetta would have been trying to escape an unhappy arranged marriage, and she knew enough about Jack's inner goodness to see that he would have been tempted to help. "Sounds like it would have been an easy solution all around," she added.

"True," Jack agreed, and picked his glass back up, swirling the wine around for a second. "Except for one little thing."

He met her eyes, and her eyebrows rose, inviting him to continue.

His eyes were warm, but sure, and his lips curved up a fraction. "Well," he began. "It turns out I'm rather hooked on doing things the hard way."

Pleasured heat flittered through her system, and she couldn't help the smile that spread across her face. "To the hard way, then," she toasted, lifting her glass in his direction.

His smile made it to his eyes as he returned the motion and then took another sip of wine.

**-j &p-**

 

**No Regrets:**

1/2 oz gold tequila  
1/2 oz Bailey's Irish Cream

 

Pour the irish cream into a shot glass, add the gold tequila, and shoot.

 


	8. A Goodnight Kiss

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another non-smutty tag (I'll get back to my smutty ways soon!) , this one for Death Defying Feats.

**-j &p-**

Jack eyed her a bit warily, trying to read her mood without letting her father know he was doing it. In a flash, he remembered standing at the station and feeling a surge of something when she told him he had her on his team. He hoped his presence and non-verbal actions told her the same. He was on her side, all the way. In just a short time, he'd learned that her father was certainly…a character. Phryne had told him a few things over the course of their partnership, and she'd managed to laugh most of them off. What he had never anticipated was the way Phryne's father seemed to throw her off-kilter a bit. As uneventful as his childhood had been, he had to admit that his parents, though staid and quiet, would never ever cause him stress like the baron was doing to his daughter.

He saw it in the tense lines of her neck, the way her smile didn't reach her eyes, the way her knuckles were white around the stem of her wineglass. But he also knew that she'd never want him to make note of it, at least not here, not like this. In that moment, he also realized that their make-up plan to the make-up plan of their shared evening with candlelit dinner was not going to come to fruition. He met her eyes and he could see she'd come to the same conclusion. A small plea for something was there too, and he wasn't sure what. He again only hoped that whatever she saw in his eyes gave her some hope, some solace, some sense of camaraderie.

Jack finished his wine and then cleared his throat. "Well, I can see you're busy, Miss Fisher. I can come by another time, and…"

"Jack," she began, and the baron stepped between them.

"What exactly are your intentions toward my daughter, inspector?" he asked.

Jack's eyes went wide, and Phryne gasped in outrage. "Father, how dare you!"

"How dare I?" he turned to her. "You are my daughter, it's my responsibility to-"

"Responsibility," she practically spit the words. "It's my home, which you've conveniently imposed yourself into. And I'm an adult; I don't need nor want your approval on anything."

Her eyes were steely, and Jack considered his next move. "Perhaps you'd walk me to my car, Miss Fisher," he offered, surprising even himself. Her gaze flew to his, and he saw high color in her cheeks. For a moment he thought she might refuse him. But then she nodded, a short, curt movement.

"I will," she replied, coolly ignoring her father and motioning toward the doorway.

Jack didn't say anything as he put on his hat and coat. He held the front door open for her and walked beside her to his car, parked in his usual spot out front. It struck him that in all the time they'd worked together, they'd never done this. He'd always said his goodbyes to her from inside her home, from her parlor, kitchen, or from the entrance to the front door. A smile crossed his lips, and then it widened as he remembered the scene he'd just witnessed.

"What's so funny," she asked, and he had to chuckle. Of course she wouldn't miss a thing. They'd reached his car, and he stood near the door, watching as she leaned against the backdoor.

"Well," he began. "I just realized that by meeting your father, I've now met the only man in the world you've given more grief to than me."

Her mouth opened in shock, but she quickly recovered, her eyes narrowing with displeasure. "Jack! Take that back."

He smiled and shrugged a shoulder. Phryne shook her head, and he could see the way she was fighting back a wry smile. "If you cared about me at all, you'd take it back."

He only laughed, and when she went to turn and walk away, he surprised them both by clutching her arm and pulling her back until she was flush against the car. He planted his palms flat against the cool metal on either side of her head. No parts of their bodies touched, but it felt intimate, new. "I'm not taking it back, but…" he continued. "I will concede that I owe you an apology, for overreacting earlier. I should have let you explain instead of getting all up in a huff, and-"

His words trailed off as she gently traced his tie with one finger. "I accept your apology," she said, and she smiled. This time, her smile reached her eyes, and he felt himself relax with relief. "And I think we should try again."

"I agree," he replied. "But with your father here…" he paused.

Her fingers tightened imperceptibly against the lapel of his coat. "It _is_ inconvenient. But I'll take care of it."

They stood there for a few seconds, the still darkness of the evening like an enveloping curtain of privacy. She stared up at him, her eyes inviting, and her lips parted. Nothing they'd planned had gone the way they'd expected it to, and in that moment he wondered why he'd ever expected it to. But even the messiness she'd brought into his life had been perfect. He softly leaned down and kissed her lips. "Until then, Miss Fisher."

Her eyes fluttered shut for a second and then she opened them, traced her fingers over the curve of his jaw and moved away. He watched her walk up her sidewalk and until she reached her front door, and he smiled when she turned and gave him a soft wave goodnight.

**-j &p-**

A Goodnight Kiss:

125ml Champagne or sparkling wine

1 drop Angostura bitters

Dash Campari

1 Sugar cube

Place the sugar cube into a champagne flute and add a drop of bitters. Pour in ice-cold champagne or sparkling wine. Add the touch of Campari and serve.


	9. Dark Indulgence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Established J/P relationship. A small attempt at some dirty-talking Jack. Not my forte, and I have no idea if some of the words are era appropriate at all. Trying to google 1920s dirty talk felt like it would be more forced than just having what I ended up with. But also know that it’s probably fairly tame compared to other people who are more skilled at dirty talking Jack :) 
> 
> Mind the M rating--this one earns it!

Phryne lay in the center of her bed, trembling and quivering with anticipation. Jack was beside her, as nude as she was. He’d touched and kissed almost every single inch of her body, and the untouched place between her thighs was wet, achy, and desperate for him.

The only place he touched her now was her stomach—just one warm palm against her skin.

“Do you want to come?” he asked, gently tracing her with the pad of his thumb.

“Yes,” she replied immediately, her hips moving restlessly against the rumpled sheets beneath her.

“How do you want it?” he asked his next question, his voice a low murmur in her ear. His hand barely moved, and she felt the side of his jaw against her shoulder as he lay at her side. She was physically free, but emotionally entangled by his nearness, intoxicated by the pleasure he’d already wrought from her body…twisting her up and up but stopping short of climax each time. And now he wanted to know how she wanted him to make her come.

How _did_ she want to come?

She could have his cock, the steady weight and pressure of his thighs and hips gently spreading hers as he thrust in and out of her until she contracted around him.

She could have his mouth, tangling her fingers in his hair as she came against those dangerously sexy lips and incredible tongue.

She could ride him, rocking on his hard, muscled stomach until they both felt her wetness, clutching his head to her as he sucked and bit at her breasts.

She could make herself come and have his eyes, watching as she pleasured herself. She could watch him stroking himself in the same rhythm.

Her mind whirled with possibilities until she settled on what she wanted. “I want your fingers,” she replied, her voice husky to even her own ears. “And I want your words.”

He didn’t reply, but she felt the twitch of his jaw as it ticked against her shoulder. Very slowly he slid two fingers down her stomach to the top of her slit. Just that touch had her moaning and swiveling her hips up in anticipation. He paused and then ran the pads of his fingers down her slit, just skimming her skin. Even so, she knew there was no way he could miss how wet she was, how slick she was for him. He murmured his approval and kept up the silky light touches. When one fingertip traced her opening, she gasped, her legs falling open in an invitation as old as time. He chuckled against her neck. “Are you going to be able to make it last?” he teased, using his lips to nuzzle against her ear lobe.

“That’s,” she bit her bottom lip and forced herself to remain as still as possible. “That’s your job.”

He chuckled again and she felt him smile against her neck. It was a smug smile, and she tightened in a prelude to the pleasure she knew there was to be had at his fingers and his mouth. “If you can joke, then I’m not doing a proper job,” he said, smoothly sliding his fingers between her folds, the movement already slick with her pleasure.

The touches were light and she was dangerously close to coming already, nearly trembling with desire. Her mouth felt dry, and her eyes were squeezed shut, as if her body subconsciously had shut down two of her senses in order to feel more of him, to hear him better. Jack lightly fingered her opening again, this time slipping inside up to one knuckle. “Do you know how wet you are?” he asked, curving his finger and stroking in and out. Her response was a whimper, and so he went a bit deeper. “You smell fucking incredible, and after you come, I’m going to bury my face right here and lick you out until you come again.”

Phryne gasped again. Though she craved it often and he always satisfied, she was always hotly shocked at how adept he was at using filthy words. Her hips twisted as she wordlessly begged for more.

And he gave it to her, slipping two fingers into her body and starting a slow but steady rhythm. “You’re so tight. I love touching you, almost as much as I love being inside you.”

“ _More_ ,” she pleaded.

He knew what she wanted. He curved his fingers just a fraction and increased the speed in a small dose. “I used to sit at my desk and wonder what it would be like to feel you ride my cock as I sat in my chair. To stand up and turn you around, hike your dress up to your hips and fuck you from behind as you gripped the edge of my desk.” His fingers sped up a bit more and she began writhing against him and groaned when he removed his fingers altogether and lightly traced her inner thighs.

“Jack,” she keened, twisting her hips toward his hand, wanting pressure, any pressure. He caught and held her earlobe gently between his teeth until she stilled. Then and only then did he return to her core, sliding his two fingers, soaked from her body, through her slickness. He circled her clit, rewarding the sensitive hard nub with tight strokes before he pressed his fingers into her again, this time the rhythm almost punishing.

“You don’t get to come until I make you come,” he whispered darkly into her ear. His own chest warmed at his daring words, but barely even one glance at her face, tipped back in rapturous anticipation told him what he needed to know. She loved it. She loved _him_. She loved what he was doing and saying to her. It was enough, _more_ than enough, to compel him to continue. He kept up the rotations, using his fingers to piston into her, high and tight and deep, and then he’d pull them out and circle her clit. When she spread her legs further than he thought possible and reached down to grip his wrist, he reacted on instinct and gave her a small, light slap against her pussy, not enough to hurt, but enough to shock.

“Oh my God,” she whimpered, her nipples hardening as a sweet and sexy pink flush covered her chest and neck.

Jack froze at his own action, and the long, low, mewl of pleasure she gave him made him so hard he almost came against her hip. “ _Shit_ ,” he gritted his teeth and fought for control. “You make me wild,” he confessed, refocusing on her. He captured her clit between two fingers and began stroking it with his thumb, occasionally slipping down to her opening to capture enough moisture to make his touch slick.

“Talk to me,” she begged. “More,” she panted. “More, _more_ …” she began to chant. “Oh, _please._ ”

“I will,” he assured her, his voice going low. “You asked for my words, and I’ll give them to you. To only you,” he promised. “Because that’s ours. When I tell you that I used to stand in my shower and think of you on your knees in front of me, you using your mouth all over me until I came…that’s for you. I would imagine pushing you up against the wall, pressing your back against the cold tile as you wrapped your arms and legs around me and rode me.” He used his entire palm to cup her mound, relishing the heat from her body. He gently began to rotate his hand, keeping her on the edge without letting her tip over into oblivion. She rocked with the motion, her body as naturally in step with his in this way as it was in all other areas of their lives. “But everything I imagined is nothing like the real thing. Nothing like how I feel when you’re beneath me, scratching your little nails down my back when you come, when your pretty little pussy squeezes me so tight, so fucking tight that I lose my mind. I lose my entire goddamn mind inside you. Nothing I imagined is like the feeling of you riding me, when you sink down onto my cock and arch your back. Yes…” he crooned as her body lifted from the mattress in a gorgeous arc. “Just like that,” he praised, giving her a more concentrated touch. He kept the flat of his palm against her clit as he slid two fingers back into her.

It wouldn’t be long now, and she was practically humming with pleasure, incoherent words and sounds all begging and pleading for more. And _son of a bitch_ , she was soaking the sheets beneath her. His mouth watered and he bit at the join where her shoulder met her neck. “I love when you come. I love seeing and hearing and feeling and smelling you as you completely unravel in my arms. You’re mine,” he growled, picking up speed, desperate to make this incredible for her. “Only I get you this wet. Only I can make you beg for it. Say it,” he demanded, slowing his hand down.

“Jack, please,” she begged, her voice on the ragged edge. He sped up his thrusts, his fingers curling up and touching every inch of her.

“Tell me what I want to hear.”

“You…” she gasped, reaching for his shoulders. She twined one hand through his hair, and the other she ran down his back, her fingers gripping his muscles as she swallowed and arched her neck back. “Only you,” she moaned, and he moved faster, finger-fucking her in earnest, centering her on his hand and moaning with her.

“Yes,” he encouraged, keeping his voice close to her ear. “Come for me. Let me feel your soaked cunt on my hand. Come for me, and I’ll put my mouth here. And you’ll come again, against my tongue. Right here,” he pressed the heel of his palm against her clit and began a side to side movement. “It will be so sweet in my mouth, your hard little clit against my tongue and teeth. And it will feel so good, baby, _so good_. And then I’ll flip you over and fuck you. Just like you like it, just like you’ll beg me to,” he promised darkly, the words seducing him just as much. “You on your hands and knees in front of me, and I’ll piston into you so hard and fast you won’t be able to do anything but call my name…and come.”

“Ohhhhhhhhhhh,” she began to wail. “mmm mmm mmm oh _God_ ,” she lifted her arms above her head and grabbed for the headboard, and he felt her shudder and clench around his fingers.

“That’s it,” he nipped at her jawline. “Just like that, Phryne. _Come_ ,” he concentrated his touch just so. “Come for me.”

Every muscle in her body tightened, and he shoved his fingers in deep, as deep as they would go. He pressed against her clit and held and buried his face against her neck, murmuring encouragements as she twitched, nearly frozen and suspended in time. Then she was wild, bucking against him and crying out as her orgasm swept over her from head to toe. It lasted for long moments, and he rode it out with her, sucking and licking at her skin as she arched against him and called his name. She cursed and praised him in the same breaths as she collapsed back against the sheets, now nearly soaked with her sweat and come.

Jack’s control snapped and he moved over her, running both hands up and down her body. He captured one nipple between his lips and sucked hard, groaning in ecstasy when her hands tightened on his shoulders. He then felt her fingers in his hair and when she pulled him back, he released her, moving forward to meet her gaze. He was surprised to see her eyes shining, her lashes wet with unshed tears. “Phryne,” he licked his lips, suddenly a bit worried he’d gone too far. But she’d wanted it, and she’d come. _So hard_. He knew that, but still…

“I’m fine,” she assured him, knowing immediately what he was thinking. She traced his jaw with her fingers. “Just a bit overwhelming is all. In the best way,” she added, and he watched as she seemed to sink further into the mattress in satisfaction. Immediately he remembered the promises he’d made to her, to taste her, to fuck her, to make her come over and over. Jack began to move back down her body, but she stopped him, lifting up on her elbows. His eyes traced over her chest, flushed pink and shiny with exertion.

“I…” he began, but she cut off his words with a kiss to his mouth and by running a foot up along his calf.

“I know,” she murmured against his mouth. “And believe me, I’ll be keeping you to those promises, but for now,” she paused and slid her fingers down his stomach until she grasped his cock in her tight hand.

“Fuck,” he hissed, unable to keep from thrusting into her palm. He was dripping all over her fingers and the slickness and friction were enough to scramble his brain. “Phryne, oh God,” he begged.

She smiled and stopped, pressing gently on his chest until he was on his back.

“Do you want to come?” she repeated his question back to her.

“Yes,” was his immediate reply, and her smug, satisfied smile told him his pleasure was just beginning.

“Then the only question is,” she purred in his ear. “How do you want it?”

**-j &p-**

 

**Dark Indulgence:**

**1/2 oz. coffee liqueur**

**3 oz. cola**

**1 scoop of vanilla ice cream**

 

**Blend all ingredients and serve in a glass.**


	10. Slow Comfortable Screw Against the Wall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Um, the title speaks for itself, I think?

Hey everyone… I realized I haven’t posted for a while—but I’ve been busy... putting together a series of drabbles to be posted every day in December until Christmas---the 25 days of Phrack! (PS …if anyone else wants to accept the 25 days challenge, go for it! It is festive and fun—no rules!).

Anyway, I just realized that even though I’ve been working on fic, I hadn’t posted anything recently and wanted to. So I consulted my list of cocktails and this one caught my eye. A slow comfortable screw against the wall? Awwwww yeaaaaaah. :)

\--j&p--

“Don’t leave yet,” she murmured, supporting her case with the sweet slide of her lips against his jaw. Rain hit the windows, cocooning them even more in her private parlor. She loved and would never grow tired of Jack’s warm hands clasping her around the waist as she sat on his lap. “Please?” she added, and sure enough, she felt his fingers flex against her body.

“Mmmm,” he replied in a low voice, capturing her mouth with his for a long, languid kiss, one of many they’d indulged in that evening. “But if I don’t leave now, I may not be able to for some time.”

Phryne smiled against his lips and lazily looped her arms around his neck. Her fingertips slid into the hair at the base of his skull and she hummed her delight. “That works for me.”

“I’m sure it does,” he smiled. “But you’re not the one who has to get up for a trial tomorrow morning. You don’t like it when I leave your bed in the mornings.”

Her lip curled up in disgust and her arms tightened automatically. “I won’t complain.”

He laughed outright at that. “Fool me once…”

“Jack,” she leaned back until their eyes met. “I promise. Stay tonight, and I promise I’ll be as happy as an angel in the morning. Or asleep.”

Jack’s eyes narrowed, and he shook his head. But the side of his mouth curved up in a smile. “And what’s to be your punishment if you aren’t?”

“Punishment?” she scoffed. “My punishment is the same as it always is. I’m left alone in bed,” she traced his chin and then moved her fingers down to toy with the knot of his tie. “Without you. Isn’t that punishment enough?”

“Oh sure,” he circled her wrists with his fingers. “ _I’m_ the one braving the cold and rain and criminals and drafty boring old courtrooms while you’re inside in your warm cozy bed…but _you’re_ the one being punished?”

She stopped him from saying more by kissing him again. “So you’d rather forgo the pleasure completely than have it for a few hours?” She was tempting him and she knew it. _He_ knew it. And she knew she had him.

He shook his head, amazed that she’d been able to tempt him even more than the usual amount.

“Such a hardship, Inspector Robinson,” she teased, and he chuckled, smoothing his hands over her arms until they settled against her back again. They kissed more. Really, he would have been content to do that all night long, just hold her in his arms, on his lap. For as much as she’d rattled his life and personal and professional existence, he’d also never felt such peace than being with her, spending an entire afternoon in her company. Letting the afternoon spill into evening and hardly noticing. Even if they didn’t share touches and their bodies, just being with her in the same room had allowed him to relax. He loved laying on her couch and reading as she wove her fingers through his hair. He loved when the positions were flipped, and she read to him as he massaged her feet and legs. He loved _her_.

So when she pulled back and went to stand up, he murmured his displeasure, leaning forward and tightening his hands to keep her on his lap.

“Jack,” she breathlessly laughed. “We’re always so much more comfortable in bed.” She managed to stand up and clasped his hands in hers.

He agreed with her in essense, but everything was perfect and cozy and warm here. She laughed again and pulled him to his feet. The leverage was off, and then he had to lean forward and capture her from falling over from the difference in weight distribution. Her laughing turned to near giggles as he pulled her against his chest. Her hands landed on his chest and she fingered the buttons of his shirt and waistcoat. His hands landed on her waist again, the curved space above her hips the perfect place for him to hold her. He could hold her steady as he kissed her, as he buried his face in the sweet line of her neck and throat and breathed her in. He could keep his own balance as her fingers flew against him. Jack always blinked in shock at how quickly those nimble fingers of hers could unfasten and loosen all of his clothing. He realized he was standing in front of her, his shirt and waistcoat both fully unbuttoned, his belt loosened and his tie hanging open around his neck.

“You wear too many clothes, Jack,” she was complaining, and he smiled at her frustration, even as he shivered at the way her fingers traced his suspenders.

“We can’t all be as loose with fashion as you are, Miss Fisher,” he teased, tracing the flimsy fabric of her top at her shoulders. It easily moved down her arm, and she gave a tiny shimmy, leaning into his touch.

“You like my loose fashion. Admit it.”

“Gladly,” he acknowledged. “I just like it better when it’s on the floor.”

She gasped with pleasure, moving her hands down to his waistband. “That can be arranged.”

He smiled and clasped her to him for another passionate kiss. One turned into two, then another, and then another until they were both groaning and pulling at clothes. They tripped over their own feet in their urgency until Phryne’s back was flat against her parlor wall and Jack was pressed up against her. She dug her fingers into his shoulders and arched against him, already lifting one leg around his hips and pleading with her body for more. Jack cupped her bottom in his hands and lifted her until her legs fully wrapped around his waist. He only admitted it to her, but he loved her in trousers. It made this, the ability to be incredibly close to her, to feel her heat so intimately, much _much_ easier. It was wicked how quickly they fell into their singular rhythm, even fully… _partially_ clothed.

She lifted up and down while he ground his hips against hers in a circular motion, pausing every few rotations to lean into her, to relish in the bite of her fingernails on whichever part of him she was touching, to soak in her pleasured sighs and moans. “I want you,” Phryne’s voice was low and seductive, a product of the high arousal also flushing her cheeks and chest. “Like this. Oh fuck me, Jack. Just like this, against the wall.”

He opened his mouth on her neck and his brain scrambled for a second before righting itself with the final tiny scrap of sense. “Upstairs,” he groaned, pulling back.

She could see the way his chest expanded and retracted with every breath. “But…” she began to protest, and he covered her mouth with his before hitching her up and over his shoulder in a fireman’s grasp.

“You have walls up there too,” he argued. “And when we’re done we can just fall into bed,” he explained as he made his way from the parlor and up the stairs to her bedroom. Once there, he set her on her feet just inside the door. She shut it, and even that was seductive. By mutual unspoken agreement, they undressed themselves, their eyes hungrily roving over each inch of skin revealed by the other. When they were both naked, she opened her hands to him, and he nearly pounced, capturing her in his arms and gently pushing her back against the wall. She gasped as the chill of the wall pressed against her bare back, and he soothed her with hot murmuring kisses along her neck. His hands traveled over her body, and when he skimmed her ribs, she sucked in a breath.

“Jack, more,” she pleaded and sinuously arched into his touch.

“I will,” he promised, his voice low and sure. He cupped her hips and moved his mouth lower, using his open lips and the tip of his tongue to trace the rounded shapes of her breasts, avoiding her nipples. They crinkled and turned puffy, then hard and extended, and he rewarded her with small scrapes of his teeth against the bottom curves of her breasts. She grunted and tangled her fingers in his hair, and he smiled as he bent his knees a bit for better leverage before conceding to her unspoken demands. He mouthed one nipple, and then the other, just brushes of heat all around her. When her fingers tightened to an almost painful level, he capitulated and sucked. _Hard_.

“Oh yes.” Her head fell back against the wall with a thunk. “Yes, Jack, _yessss,_ ” she encouraged as he sucked her, using his lips and teeth and then following up with long raspy strokes of his tongue.

“One day,” he promised, pulling back a bit to look at how wet and tight her nipples were from his mouth. “One day, I’m going to make you come, just like this.” She shivered at his words, and he moved his hands to palm the insides of her thighs. They were already damp, and he groaned, ready to sink to his knees and lick and lap every drop of her creamy wetness.

“I want you,” she said, and he knew what she meant. He straightened up, and then it was his head falling back in pleasure as she slid her hands down his chest and stomach until she was gripping his hard cock in her soft, sure hands. She used both hands, gripping him and stroking him up and up and up and so hard and tight and… “Jesus, Phryne. Oh my God, _please_ ,” he rocked into her hands and felt her slide her fingertips against the broad, slick head of his dick, and then her hands were tight and hard _and wet_ , “Oh fuck, stop. _Stop_ , please.” He gripped her hands in his and forced his breathing to settle. “I want to be in you.”

“Yes,” she pulled her hands away and settled them once again on his shoulders. He cupped the backs of her thighs and lifted her and it was just like downstairs; they fit perfectly together. But this was even more decadent, as his hard length slid against her soaked core, pressing against her hard little clit with every thrust. “You have to,” he grunted, motioning downward with his chin. “I can’t…” he clasped his hands tighter over her bare bottom, squeezing the perfect curves.

Phryne understood and reached between them. She carefully gripped the base of his shaft, situating him at her opening. Then she tightened her legs around him and moved downward, sliding over him until he was buried inside. “So good,” she breathed. “Always _so_ , so good.”

It _was_ good, and he was suddenly entranced with the desire to make it better than good, to make it _exquisite_ for her. He steadied his weight and then used all of his muscles to lift and lower her on him. It was only a few inches, never enough for him to fully leave her body. But Phryne was clenching around him, and her eyes were going glassy with pleasure. He kept up the rhythm, calling on all of his physical training and endurance. It was incredible, an exquisite joining, but it was also this side of wicked, a hard and fantastic screw, and as he slightly picked up speed, a thorough fucking, one that had her clutching his head to hers as she kissed him. Their tongues tangled and he used the wall for leverage as he pounded into her, nice and slow and long. She was so wet around him, her slick body clasping his on every slick thrust, gripping him like the tightest, silkiest fist every time he moved her up and down. He was close to coming, he could feel his own orgasm gathering at the base of his spine. The need to go faster and harder pushed at him, and he knew he had to do something more to get her as close as he was.

“Give me your fingers,” he said. “Here,” he said against her mouth. She understood and placed her fingertips against his lips. He used his tongue to lick at her fingers, making them wet and slick. Even that movement made them both shiver and shake, and Phryne leaned her head back against the wall again, sliding her wet fingers down her body until she could touch herself. “Come, Phryne,” he commanded, feeling the brush of her knuckles against his groin.

He knew when she first touched her clit because her lips parted in ecstasy and her wet warmth quivered, tightening around him. “More,” he pleaded, trying to keep the rhythm good for her. She'd wanted him up against the wall, a long slow fuck, and he wanted to finish strong. “Please, Phryne,” he begged, pressing his face against her neck. “I need…”

“I know,” she whispered and sped up her fingers. “Come with me,” she challenged, using her other hand to pull his head back until their eyes met. Dark blue met bright blue as she concentrated her touch just so and then imploded, wrapping her arms around his neck and riding him hard, his name tripping from her lips and spinning into harsh cries as she came. The scent of her body was sweet between them and more intense from her hand near his face.

It overwhelmed him, and combined with the desperate way her body squeezed and captured his, he came with her, pulling her down onto him and burying himself as deep as he could go. Wave after wave of pleasure coursed through his body, centering between his legs and into her. He pulsed and throbbed and for a second thought he might never stop coming, never stop losing himself inside her.

“Damn,” he gasped when the ability to speak returned. His eyes were squeezed shut, and he couldn’t help but press soft and thankful kisses against her neck and shoulders, his hands clutching her in gratitude and keeping her as close as possible. She was tracing his shoulders with her fingers, humming contentedly and arching lightly under his mouth. His knees started to give, and he pulled in a deep breath before turning them both, walking far enough to make it to her bed. They both fell onto it, both out of breath and nearly gobsmacked at the intensity.

“Well-planned, Jack,” Phryne commended, her voice raspy.

He barked out a laugh…or tried to. It sounded more like a whimper as he used the last remaining dredge of energy to roll toward her. His arm landed over her waist, and he tugged her closer. “We have to get under the covers.” When she groaned, he smiled, kissing her shoulder.

“Eventually," she said and snuggled closer to him, their shared heat enough for now.

“I like eventually," he smiled against her lips, kissing her gently. “I’m staying by the way.”

A small laugh escaped her and kissed him back. “That, my dear Jack, was never really in question.”

 

\---j&p--

 

1.5 shot of Ketel One Vodka

.5 shot of Sloe Gin liqueur

.5 shot of Southern Comfort

3.5 shots of freshly squeezed orange juice

.25 shot of Galliano L'Autentico liqueur

 

Shake first 4 ingredients with ice and strain into ice-filled glass. Float Galliano and garnish with orange slice.

 


	11. Passion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Non-smutty, sort of dark J&P. Partnerly. Set sometime in S3, I suppose? Before they were together, but after they'd been more open with one another about the idea.

The guilty suspect was quickly taken away, and Phryne stood and closed the door behind the constable before turning to watch Jack as he attempted to calm down, his palms flat on the interrogation room table and his chest expanding with every labored breath. His face and neck were flushed, his hair tousled, and his suit drew tight over his arms and shoulders, his muscles tensing beneath the fabric. He was a man under the control of adrenaline...and desperately trying not to be.

The interrogation and confession had been brutal and ugly, leaving everyone unsettled. But while she had been involved, she’d also had more of a spectator’s seat, allowing Jack to work his way through the suspect’s convoluted but ultimately flimsy defense, to cull out every necessary and vile detail to get a conviction. As such, she’d watched as he simply took control…and lost some of his own in the process. He’d been furious, a deadly coil of justice and determination. He’d been relentless, tenacious, completely persistent in a way she’d never seen him before. She didn’t feel unsafe per se, but it was a new experience. One that was leaving her flushed and aroused and that tapped into the primal attraction she felt for him. It was nearly base in its intensity. Elemental.

“I know what you’re thinking,” he finally spoke, the sound of his voice thrumming over and through her.

She paused, and then…“You couldn’t possibly.”

He grimaced. “I don’t often lose control. I’m not proud of it either.”

She waited for another moment before replying.

“Who said anything about pride?”

Jack just shook his head, expelling breath in long, unsteady exhalations. She thought he might still have some rage lurking, needing a release. It was righteous and justified rage in her mind-- the unspeakable acts the killer had done to his victims made her own blood boil as well. She recognized it, knew the feeling. She had her own sometimes barely leashed dogs of war; they had that in common. They weren’t the same, but she knew the signs, knew how it felt to think only additional violence would account for some of the pain in this world. The delicious taste of revenge. The deeply gratifying tug of retribution. The use of power for something selfish in the moment. They both knew those feelings were fleeting, deceitful mirages. Additional violence never settled the score; it only created a new one. But there was always a _fraction_ of a moment when it still seemed worth it, before the ultimate remembrance of peace, sworn oaths to protect, and anti-vigilante justice won out. No, she didn’t judge him for a second—in fact, she admired him. She relished the intimate look inside of his normally controlled being. She was drawn to it, to him. But she could also see on his face that he was frustrated with himself, and she knew she wouldn’t be able to change that. She could only steer things in another direction. She could at least give that to him. “I’m wondering if you’re like this in bed,” she confessed, expecting him to flinch, perhaps flush, and then shake his head and move on. But he didn’t. He met her eyes and her breath hitched at the darkness in his eyes.

“Violent?” he scoffed. “Out of control, you mean.” He palmed the back of his neck.

“Not violent,” Phryne shook her head. “Unrestrained,” she corrected. “Passionate. Relentless.”

He didn’t look away. Instead, his jaw twitched, and she saw his fingers flex against the tabletop. She placed her own hands against it, feeling the firm, cool press of the surface against her fingertips. “I’m wondering what it would be like if you had me on this table right now,” she added, not even sure herself anymore if she meant to soothe him or cause him to lose the last of his control like the final tumbler in a lock. When he leaned forward, her eyes fell to his mouth…a straight determined line still filled with sensual promise. His jaw twitched, and his nostrils flared. “Then…” he began, each word more deliberate than the last. “Either you, me…or this table needs to leave the room.”

Her tongue darted out to wet her suddenly dry lips. She met his gaze and beneath the coursing adrenaline, she saw his grim desperation. He wanted her. _Release_. A hard, mindless fuck that left them breathless and restored some meaning to life. That was part of it, and she knew that. But beneath that passion, she could see that he wanted her restraint. He didn’t want her _like this. Not yet._ He needed her in that moment, but not in the conventional way. 

It was heady. If anything, her attraction grew. It threatened to escape, to wind like a vine from her body to his and pull him to her, consequences be damned. It was her turn to feel out of control.

\--j&p--

 

6 - 12 oz Malibu coconut rum

1 cup crushed ice

Whipped cream

½ can of frozen grape juice.

Blend the frozen grape juice and ice together in a blender. Add the rum and blend until smooth. Add whipped cream to desired smoothness. Pour into a hurricane glass and serve.


	12. Black Velvet

I'm cleaning up my document folder! :)

Another "originally supposed to be a 100 word drabble that didn't stay that way" story, so I'm using it here.

**\--j &p--**

It was late when he arrived home, but not too late. And he found her in their bed, lounging on top of the comforter in a pretty black velvet nightgown he’d never seen before. Her lips curved up with pleasure when she spotted him, and her legs parted almost imperceptibly when he leaned in the bedroom doorway and began loosening his tie. “I’m just going to clean up, and then I’ll be in bed,” he told her, moving on to his cuffs and waistcoat.

“Mmmm,” she murmured appreciatively, her eyes roaming over his body. She bent her knees up, and the fabric of her nightgown slid easily to her hips, like water over her bare skin. Very bare skin.

The dark velvet was such a contrast to her gorgeously pale body, her long slim legs and thighs, the gentle curve of her stomach and hips. His gaze narrowed on the sweetly shadowed crux of her thighs, and he blinked when her fingers found their way there.

She traced herself, and smiled. “I’ll keep everything warm for you,” she teased, and he grinned, yanking the rest of his clothes off and leaving them haphazardly on the floor as he went to the bath to wash up.

And when he returned, she was just as he’d left her, still prone on the bed, still stroking herself between her legs, the velvet nightgown bunched above her hips. He contemplated his next move. Should he replace her fingers with his own? Or his tongue? He could flatten his palm against her clit and rock it against her as he kissed her mouth. He could use his hands along the insides of her thighs and suck her bare throat, making her arch against the thin layer of air between their bodies.

There was time for all of that, and more. And he knew what he wanted first.

He laid beside her on the bed and watched as her fingers slipped and slid over her wet pussy. “Make yourself come, Phryne,” he encouraged, careful to keep his voice as low as possible in order to not break her mood.

Phryne smiled, one eyebrow arching up in slight surprise, but she did as she was told, touching herself as he watched, concentrating her fingertips just so, parting her folds and rotating her hips in her natural rhythm.

“Look at me, Jack,” she insisted, and he met her eyes, wanting the visual connection of her gaze. 

He leaned down until they were almost touching. Very gently, he brushed her lips with his and then pulled back to watch her face. He watched as her eyes darkened, her cheeks flushed, and her lips parted around his name as she arched and shook with pleasure.

\--j&p--

 

Black Velvet:

  * Guinness
  * Champagne (or sparkling wine



Fill glass halfway with champagne; top off with Guinness. 

 


End file.
